


Dancing with Fire

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Pas De Deux [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Firefighters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Off-duty fireman Ronon calls it in when he sees a burning building - but someone else is already there, helping rescue people.Someone who could be - but is not - a fireman.His name is Evan.





	Dancing with Fire

As soon as Ronon saw the smoke, he called it in. Even though he was off-duty and exhausted, as soon as he heard the screams from within, he started toward the building.

Someone else was already there, hoisting children out the window. He peered through the smoke, saw Ronon, shouted something unintelligible.

Ronon was there in an instant, accepting children from him, setting them on the ground, directing them to head to the other end of the street.

The other guy was shorter than Ronon but strong, broad across the shoulders. Was he from another firehouse? Ronon didn’t recognize him through the smoke and ash smeared on his face. 

He took a step back, scanned the windows and other openings, watching for flame patterns. How structurally sound was the building? It was brick, an elementary school, designed and built in the fifties, if not before. Was it up to code? It might have been grandfathered in.

Ronon glanced at his watch. The nearest firehouse had a response time of nine minutes at best. It had been five since he’d called.

Then he realized he couldn’t see the other guy anymore.

There were still screams and sobs inside.

Ronon approached the window, the collar of his t-shirt up over his nose and mouth as an ineffectual barrier against the smoke. “Hey! Where are you?”

And then the other guy materialized in the smoke, handed Ronon a screaming toddler.

For one moment their gazes locked. The other guy had blue, blue eyes.

“How many more are there?” Ronon asked.

“Teacher said twenty-five,” the guy said. 

Ronon glanced over his shoulder, did a head count. Twenty-three.

“I think I can get the last two,” the guy said. “Be right back.” And he darted into the smoke.

Ronon shouted, “Wait!”

There was an ear-splitting crack.

Ronon recoiled sharply, watched in horror as part of the roof started to collapse.

People on the sidewalk screamed.

And then Ronon heard the blessed, blessed sound of fire engine sirens.

Ronon ran to meet the first engine, hoisted himself up onto it.

Lieutenant Murray was a stand-up guy, smart.

Ronon gave him a sit-rep. “There’s a civilian inside. He said he was going after two more kids. Roof just collapsed. Send in extraction.”

Murray nodded. “Indeed.”

Captain Shanahan hit the ground running. 

Ronon was surprised but relieved to see Chief O’Neill riding along, barker orders at the probies.

Ronon wanted to ask for a suit so he could gear up and go in, but this wasn’t his team, and he’d disrupt their rhythm.

He started herding the rubberneckers and bystanders away from the building. There were passersby, terrified parents, a gaggle of skinny girls who were all crying. It took Ronon a moment to find the teacher.

“You - you’re the teacher?”

She nodded, eyes wide, face wet with tears. Tiny crying children were pressed in on her from all sides.

“How many students did you have?”

“Twenty-five.”

“How many are here?”

“Only twenty-three.”

Ronon spun away from her, headed back toward the engines. There were two of them, teams working hoses. Ambulances had arrived, and EMTs were triaging the emotionally traumatized from the physically injured.

Ronon was frustrated, helpless, watching the hoses run, watching flames turn to smoke and steam.

Where were the extraction teams?

A high-pitched chorus of shouts and cries went up, and Ronon saw the gaggle of skinny girls with gym bags surge forward. A couple of firemen stepped in to intercept them.

“Evan!” one of the girls called out. “Are you okay?”

And Ronon saw half a dozen firemen emerging from the building, two with crying toddlers, two supporting that guy between them, two more armed with axes and shields.

EMTs swarmed them.

Ronon darted through the crowd toward them, made it to the guy’s - Evan’s - side.

He was wide-eyed, his face streaked and smeared with ash, gratefully inhaling fresh oxygen from a little mask, wrapped in a rough wool emergency blanket.

“Are all the kids all right?” he was asking.

“They’re fine,” the EMT said. “What’s your name?”

“Evan Lorne.”

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“Who’s the President?”

“I didn’t hit my head or pass out,” he said. “Really, I’m fine. I just -”

“You need to go to the hospital for further treatment for smoke inhalation,” the EMT said. “You want someone to ride along with you?”

Evan said, “Jennifer has my bag. With my stuff in it. Insurance info.” He pointed to the gaggle of girls on the sidewalk, the skinny pretty ones.

O’Neill, who was hovering, asked, “What station are you with?”

Evan blinked at him. “Station?”

And then the girls were all over him, patting him down and crying.

“Oh, Evan, you were so brave! That was so scary! Don’t do that again!”

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“Are your knees and ankles all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Evan said patiently. “Jennifer, can I have my bag? It has my wallet in it. I need my insurance card.”

One of the girls handed him a gym bag.

Another clung to his arm. “You’ll still be there for me tomorrow, right? For my audition? No one does lifts like you do -”

“He’ll be released from the hospital when the doctor says he’s ready,” the EMT said firmly. “You riding along or not?”

The girls blinked at each other, anxious and indecisive.

“I will,” Ronon said. He scrambled up into the ambulance, plopped down on the bench beside Evan.

“Do you want us to call Director Weir?” one of the girls asked as they all backed away from the ambulance.

Evan nodded. “Please.”

The EMTs shut the back doors, and one of them banged on the divider, and then the ambulance was pulling away.

Evan sank back against the side of the ambulance, taking deep breaths. He looked exhausted.

He was beautiful.

“You’re crazy,” Ronon said. “Running into a burning building without gear like that.”

Evan shrugged. “There were kids. Thanks for helping me.”

“It’s what we do, isn’t it?”

Evan blinked at him.

“We firemen,” Ronon said. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“Ah, no.” Evan started to laugh, but it turned into a cough.

Ronon pounded him on the back.

One of the EMTs opened a bottle of water and handed it to him.

Evan drank deeply, inhaled some more clean oxygen.

“’M not a fireman,” he managed, hoarse.

Ronon stared at him. “Who are you?”

“That’s a complicated metaphysical question.”

“What do you  _ do,  _ if you’re not a fireman?”

“I’m a ballet dancer.”

Ronon stared at him some more.

Evan made a lifting motion with one arm, shrugged innocently.

So that was why all those girls had been worried about him, asking after his ankles and knees.

“Well, you’re damn brave for a ballet dancer.”

“There are a lot of dudes who would rather run into a burning building than prance around on a stage in front of hundreds of people wearing nothing but tights and gold paint,” Evan said.

“True.” Ronon eyed him. “Nothing but tights and gold paint?”

Evan shrugged. “I’m just a dancer, not a costume designer.”

“Bet it looked pretty hot,” Ronon said.

Evan arched an eyebrow at him.

One of the EMTs said, “It totally did.”

Ronon and Evan both stared at her.

“I have season tickets to the ballet,” she said.

Ronon nudged Evan. “Go on a date with me?”

“When I’m released from the hospital, sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a song of the same name by Boombox Cartel (haven't actually listened to the song, but it's a cool title).


End file.
